The Millionaire's Marriage Demand(4)

Then Brent walked over to her, the lamplight shining in his golden hair,  his perfect teeth stretched in a smile she would have sworn was  genuine. She hadn't imagined the hatred, though. She knew she hadn't.  "Julie!" he said, taking her by the shoulders. "How lovely you look."  Before she could duck, he kissed her hard and thoroughly on the mouth.

Squirming free of Brent, suppressing the instinct to wipe her mouth with  the back of her hand, she sputtered, "Hello, Brent. Sorry I'm late. But  luckily Travis and I were able to get the launch together."

"Ah yes …  my long-lost brother," Brent said. "A surprise birthday present, Travis. Is that what you are?"

His hazel eyes were entirely unamused; he was balancing lightly on the  balls of his feet. Travis said easily, "Yes, I thought I'd surprise you  all."

"How gratifying to have had such instant success," Brent said smoothly.  "Be sure and tell Dad he hasn't aged," he added, swinging around to  include Charles in his brilliant smile.

Why had it never struck her before how aggressive that smile was? Julie  wondered. Or was she simply seeing for the first time what lay beneath  the charm? She hadn't liked being kissed by him. Hadn't liked it at all.  By kissing her, Brent had been getting at Travis, she'd swear to it; in  that sense, it had been nothing to do with her.

Charles Strathem stepped forward. He was a tall man with iron-grey hair  rigidly combed across his scalp, his chin stubborn rather than strong;  he was wearing a tailored business suit. If he had been frightened  earlier, he now had himself firmly under control. Making no effort to  hug his son, or even shake his hand, he looked Travis up and down.  "You'll just have time to change for dinner."

"I'll have a Scotch on the rocks first," Travis said calmly, yet with a note in his voice that caused his father's eyes to drop.

"Fine," Charles said. "Help yourself. But kindly say hello to your stepmother."

"Corinne," Travis said, crossing the room with that economical grace  Julie had noticed earlier. He bent and brushed her perfectly made-up  cheek with his lips. "You look very well."

"Thank you, Travis," she said coolly, without reciprocating his gesture.  "Get your drink and I'll ring for Bertram to set another place for  dinner."

Brent pulled Julie forward. "Dad, Corinne, this is Julie Renshaw. Julie,  my father Charles Strathem, and my stepmother, Corinne Strathem."

Julie shook hands, murmured the usual inanities, and was offered an  array of drinks. She chose vodka and orange, and heard herself chatting  on about the boat trip and the rose garden. Corinne offered her a tour  of the garden in the morning, then Charles led her to the far wall to  show her an oil painting of Manatuck's predecessor. Travis said nothing.

Half an hour later, having been shown to her room, Julie closed the door  and leaned back against the panels. She had fifteen minutes until  dinner. Her sole desire was to run down the slope and beg Oliver to take  her back to the mainland. Pronto.

What on earth had Travis done to make his return so little a cause for  rejoicing? While Oliver and Bertram had been genuinely pleased to see  him, his family was acting as if a viper had dropped into their midst.  No one had welcomed him, or asked him how he was. Or why he was back.

The other glaringly obvious question was why he'd left. Why, when, and how.

She could always ask. Right, she thought ironically. A sure way to commit social suicide.

Her bag had been unpacked, and her clothes pressed and hung in a  cavernous walk-in cupboard. Quickly Julie showered and changed into  white silk pants with a long tunic, jade earrings that she'd bought at a  bazaar in Tanzania dangling from her lobes, and jade-green sandals on  her feet. Makeup, a quick brush through her hair and she was ready. It  was going to be a long evening.

As she walked down the hallway toward the magnificent curved staircase,  another door opened. Travis said, "Wait, Julie, we'll go down together.  Otherwise you'll get lost." She turned. He was wearing a dark grey suit  with a thin-striped shirt and silk tie; but his hair was still unruly,  and his eyes remained that burning and unrevealing blue. Her heart  quickened. Had she called him attractive? What a wishy-washy word for a  man who exuded such a powerful combination of intelligence, willpower  and animal grace. A man who pulled her toward him with every breath he  took.                       
       
           



       

Which certainly made him unique. Normally she was immune to sexy, charismatic men. Avoided them like the plague.

He stopped a foot away from her, giving her a leisurely survey. "Very  elegant-less is always more, isn't it? Something neither Charles nor  Corinne has ever learned."

"I'm to take that as a compliment?"

"Don't fish, Julie."

"How else am I to find out what you're thinking?"

"You can take it as read that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her jaw dropped inelegantly. "Me?"

"Come on-you've looked in the mirror."

"My mouth is too wide and my nose is off-center."

"Only slightly. I never did have much use for perfection." Deliberately  he reached out and ran his finger across the curve of her cheekbone to  the corner of her mouth, where it lingered for a moment. "I've been  wanting to do that since we met," he said thickly.

Warm color flooded her cheeks. "Come off it. You wanted the wharf to  yourself when we met," she retorted. "Which, after that scene in the  drawing room, I can fully understand. So please don't pretend you were  overcome by the sight of me."

"You need to know two things about me. I don't pretend. And I'm capable of holding more than one emotion at once."

Wasn't she the same? If fury and lust could be called emotions, she was  certainly swamped by both right now. Not that she was going to tell him  that. She said lamely, "We're going to be late for dinner. Punishable by  confinement in the dungeon."

"In irons." Travis held out his arm. "Let's go."

It was a challenge. He was daring her, Brent's date, to walk into the  dining room on his arm. "Don't use me to get at your younger brother,"  she flared.

"Don't drag me down to his level."

He was saying, indirectly, that he wanted to take her arm for his own  sake. Subduing a treacherous thrill of pleasure, she said, "Does anyone  ever win an argument with you?"

He said dryly, "I have a feeling you could."

"I wish I shared that feeling," she said, and slid her fingers through  the crook of his elbow, searingly aware of the taut muscles of his  forearm under the expensive cloth. "Why are you here, Travis?" she  blurted.

He said flatly, "It's time I made peace with my father. His sixtieth birthday seemed as good a time as any to start."

She looked straight up at him. "If peace is what you want, wouldn't you  have been better to let him know you were coming? He looked scared out  of his wits when he saw you."

"So you noticed that as well." Travis frowned. "Anger I'd have understood. But not fear."

"What if he doesn't want to make peace with you?"

"Then I'll just have to find a way to make it happen, won't I? And don't ask why I left, because I won't tell you."

"Well, that's straightforward enough." She gave him an impish grin.  "This conversation will, I'm sure, be the only red one of the whole  evening."

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

She blinked, swallowing hard. "Scream for help? Haul you into the nearest bedroom? How do I know?"

"Then we'd better postpone it until we have the time to find out,"  Travis said, and set off down the corridor as imperturbably as if they'd  been discussing the weather.

Julie scurried along beside him, her head buzzing with questions, her  body, regrettably, aching with a hunger that had nothing to do with  dinner. When would she ever learn to keep a guard on her tongue?

How could she have said that about hauling him into the nearest bedroom?  She'd never hauled a man into a bedroom in her life; and she wasn't  going to start with Travis Strathem.





CHAPTER THREE





Dinner was an interminable, exquisitely prepared meal during which Brent  flirted with Julie unrelentingly, Corinne talked at great length about  gardens of the eighteenth century, and Charles and Travis said very  little. Julie did learn two things. Travis was a doctor, and he'd left  home eighteen years ago.                       
       
           



       

It didn't seem like much for the better part of two long hours, every  minute of which seethed with the undercurrents of things unsaid. Just  like home, Julie thought with a touch of panic. When had her parents  ever voiced an honest emotion or spoken out of a genuine need? Never.  Excruciating politeness was the way they operated, too, just like the  Strathems. And it was from that deadly politeness that she herself had  run away from home at the age of seventeen and a half.